Confession
by Cuui no toaster Kami
Summary: A late nite confession of a madman. R for now but rating will change in later chapters


Title: Confessions  
  
Author: Cuui no toaster Kami  
  
Genre: Pov, Angst, mentions of physical and mental abuse  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Weiss or Schwarz I just borrow them for my own sick fun (  
  
I often wondered about Farfarello's past , and the tantalizing glimpses of it shown in the series only whet my appetite more. I think he wasn't born an amoral killing machine but was driven to it . This is just a pleasant little tour of his soul with him as our guide. The sad fact is some of the events I describe are true events that happened to me growing up, and that I guess is the saddest thing of all, that somewhere out there there is a Farfarello in the making. This is my first Weiss Kreuz fanfic so pleas play nice.  
  
Comments and criticism are the coin of the realm and any donations are appreciated. Domo arigato gozaimasu ^_^V  
  
Chapter 1 Lament, Pain & Fear  
  
  
  
~ He screams and screams and pounds his head against the wall until wailing phantom fire trucks paces across his vision. Pain. Pain is all he wants. And hate. Yes, hate. We shall never forget and never forgive. And never, ever, fear. Fear is for the enemy. Fear and bullets.~  
  
From "The Crow" graphic novel by J. O'Barr  
  
  
  
Look at you, lying bound ,gagged, and helpless at my feet. Well, well, well, Bombay never thought you'd wind up like this eh? Are you silently hoping that your teammates are on their way to rescue you? Poor, poor baby, look at you…simpering in fear. Just the thought of being trapped here with me is about to make you piss your pants eh kitty? You probably think I'm going to just gut you then mail bits and pieces of you back to Weiss . Maybe I will, maybe I won't…you'll never know what fun I will come up with for us, but that can wait until later. Right now I have the perverse urge to talk, confess ,if you will. Must be a vestige of my catholic upbringing, you know, all that bullshit about confession being good for the soul and you, you lucky kitten, get to be my confessor.  
  
I know you think of me as an inhuman monster, kitten. That I am, I would not insult you or myself by pretending otherwise. I was not born a monster, no, I was hand crafted by years of abuse, neglect, and cruelty to be what I am today. I am a fiend of the worst kind, burning from the inside out. I know how black and sharp the bones of my sins are. Can you claim the same Weiss? I am not unaware of what the world at large thinks of me. I do not have to be a mind reader like the German slut to know. It is written clearly upon the face of every sheep I meet.  
  
Why is it that the world at large often thinks that those who are crazy or deemed mad must be idiots? Would it surprise you to learn that I have read all the books there are on religion and philosophy? That I could work complex mathematical sums in my head that most people would struggle with even with the aid of a calculator? That I have a complete and encyclopedic knowledge of human physiology and anatomy? That I am familiar with chemistry and pharmacology? Knowledge is power kitten, a useful weapon to wound a capricious and uncaring god with. Every question asked and answered gouges a bit of god away. God fears logic and reason he needs us to be ignorant, fearful, and superstitious in order to keep his festering cowardly self upon his ill-gotten throne.  
  
I j tolerate my teammates only because they at least are true to themselves, unlike the hoards of lemmings that make up the rest of the world's populace. Crawford is a pompous insufferable prig. Often he is too ambitious for his own good. He is too occupied with mapping out and deciphering the future to pay attention to the hear and now and that tends to throw all his intricate schemes for a loop. Shuldich is a creature of base desires and appetites and proud of it. He wears his naughties like the finest jewels. A proud unrepentant peacock of a sinner, oh the tears his every sinful desire and whim fulfilled causes god! Lastly there is our precious prodigy, a hurt and angry child who wishes to lash out and make the world suffer as he has suffered. His only sin was to be born different. Do you know he envies you Bombay? That our dear Nagi secretly desires to be you? Hmmm maybe Shuldich and I can arrange to have that wished fulfilled…  
  
And what of myself? Ah that is an interesting tale. My biological mother, the lying filthy bitch, chose to serve the great liar rather than be bothered by raising her ill gotten child…Oh I know how she cried pretty tears for you and Siberian… told you and the clawed idiot that she loved me...what complete and utter bollocks! She made amply clear her tender regards for me when in her infinite maternal wisdom she delivered me to *their * oh so loving hands. Do you know what it is like to live in a house where you know the only reason you dwell there is out of some farcical notion of obligation? Oh everyone thought that they were such loving and attentive parents, and oh so noble in taking their poor misguided niece's bastard in and adopting him. Some days…some days I wish that my mother had strangled me at birth rather than force life upon me; it would have been a mercy.  
  
Oh they were smart…they never left marks where they could be seen, always made sure I looked healthy and well fed, but not a crumb of affection, approval, or love did I ever receive from those two no matter how hard I tried. I tried ever so hard kitten to be the good little boy, the perfect son for them but I was never, ever good enough. I could never, no mater how hard I tried, could ever get them to love me. They were always waiting for the slightest slip of manners or faulty action so they could *correct * the behavior.  
  
I remember one time in the summer, it was my first and last time ever to have ice cream…My cone accidentally dripped onto the carpet…Did you know what the woman I knew as mother did? No? Well I'll tell you my dear kitty, she rubbed my face in the spill till it was raw and bloody all the while screaming at me that I was an ungrateful brat and they could never have nice things around me because I always wind up ruining them, that I made her hurt me, that I made her do this. I was forced to clean the blood and ice cream out of the carpet then sent to my room without supper. The next morning she called the parochial school I attended and lied, telling them I was ill with rubella and would not be in for a week.  
  
I guess growing up I have been beaten with every thing imaginable; from wire hangers and electrical cords to wooden spoons and yardsticks and everything in-between. Ever have a Plexiglas architect's t-square broken over your back? It's quite an interesting sensation. Whenever they thought me too sassy of the mouth powdered cyan pepper was put on my tongue and I was refused water. If they though me openly insolent I was smacked upside the head. If my clothes were not put away to their satisfaction they were taken away from me and I was forced to wear a sackcloth smock. I often had to worry what mood *they * were in when I got home from school to see if I would be greeted at the door with a glare or a blow. Pain? I know pain at the molecular level Weiss…It pulls at my atoms…Sings to me in an alphabet of fear…  
  
The only joy I had was that my little sister adored me. I did everything in my power to protect her from those two monsters that brought her into the world. If she did anything wrong I gladly took the blame to spare her the agony of a beating. Angela, my dear little angle, was the only happiness I had in the hell that was my existence. The day I lost her was the day my soul and ability for compassion died.  
  
I bet you're wondering if I ever told anyone about what I was going through. I did. Father Brannigan. He was the minister of our Parrish church. I told him once at confession and he said that I was a bad son for telling lies about my parents , such good Christian folk, and that god was ashamed of my sinful behavior. Gave me a shite load o' penance for the barring of my anguish. I also told my Bible studies teacher, Sister Ruth. Yes, yes the same bitch who abandoned me at birth, though I did not know it at the time. I thought she was my friend...Another damned lie!!! I thought I could trust her to keep it secret and just between us… I told her not to tell anyone what I said to her!!! Traitorous Judas bitch! She went screeching like a banshee to *them *. I came home from school to find her there, they did not know I was there so I hear everything, *everything *!! Do ye ken what it be like when ye whole bloody world is ripped ta shreds? Do ye ken the pain I felt losing me Angel, to know she n'eer was mine in the first place?? That all I suffered for was naught??!!!!!!  
  
Ye see, kitten, god had just paid the cruelest joke of all upon me. In that one instant he took away the only family I had known. I had nothing left to loose. One day…one day kitten you are gong to lose everything you have and hold dear. Nothing will ever prepare you for that day. Not faith…Not religion. When your whole world dies, destroyed before your very eyes, you will know soul chilling emptiness…You will then know what it is like to fully realize that you are completely and utterly alone in a cold uncaring universe. You will never forget and never *ever * forgive. I do what I do because I died inside but found that I was still breathing. My heart is a lonely void far beyond fear, pain, or sorrow. It is how I express my anger and rage at having my world and all I knew torn from me…It is my attempt to seek justice and recompense, a balancing of debt, where there is none to be had. For some things , my sweet kitten, there is no forgiveness…Absolutely * none* . That cold hard fact is hard to live with my boy. The event…the split second of time that brought me to this void… it cannot be forgiven no matter how inevitable it was. It took away my future and it ended everything except for this: The emotional inertia of a relationship. That, unfortunately , is forever and it is all I have left. I just learned how to access this and use it to my advantage, a futile attempt to recover what is irretrievably lost.  
  
I know Sister Ruth would have you believe otherwise, but I knew in my soul what I was doing when I picked up the butcher knife and made my way into the living room. To this day I can clearly see the look of utter bewilderment and fear upon their faces. And the red! The red, warm and sweet ,flowing freely about as well as their screams. The only death I ever regretted that day was Angela's. But then it was a mercy...she deserved better that this cesspool of a world. She will always be without stain or blemish…my own sweet angel...MINE AND NOT THAT HYPOCRITICAL BASTARDS!!!!  
  
Ruth then did what she is ever so god at doing, she lied. She lied to the police saying that a burglar broke in and did my bloody deed. If I still had my knife I would have gutted her. I was proud of destroying my tormentors and wanted to crow my victory from the church's bell tower! I held my tongue though, if I learned anything growing up it was knowing when to stay silent. Soon enough though I was now a ward of our loving government…  
  
~TBC~  
  
Chapter 2 Where the Teeth of Madness Jump, Jump Dance and Sing… 


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